THE PAST, PRESENT & THE FUTURE ALL STARING AT ME.

I was born in Bungoma, My Mum was in Form 3 when she had me, as a result that marked the end of her education. I was named after my grandfather. I was born in 1991 but to date I am not sure the date because of all the mystery that shrouded my birth. My Identification card says I was born in 1993…… I quickly interject as I need perspective as to why. I never really had a birth certificate up and until it was time for me to do my KCSE, that’s when we had to forge one. She smiles shyly as if to gauge if I am really ready for the rest of it! You and I celebrate our birthdays every year and never really give much thought to it, that there is a fellow young person walking the streets who doesn’t know the very day they were born.

My grandmother took care of me till she passed on, left me in the care of my Grandpa and his second wife. Bounced between the care of an Uncle and an Aunt here and there till my Mum got married to a guy I grew up knowing that’s my biological father. As is the story of most an average household, money was tight, but in ours it was crazy tight, especially coupled by the fact that my step dad earned very little and had a wandering eye to top it off. So bad it got, that we would sometimes go without food. The universe is not entirely cruel, he finally got a promotion at work, and he now had slightly more disposable income to cover us and his other Mipango wa kando. I honestly wonder to myself how much that dude was taking home at this particular moment, I mean enough for a 5 year old to notice that we are good now haha.

He later bought a parcel of land and constructed a house for my Mum, something I appreciate him for, despite his many failings. There was this man, we knew him as the Photoman. Back in the day Photographers were called Photoman and it wasn’t always a revered profession as it is in these Instagram days. He would have these long protracted stories with my mother, and that never struck me as odd then till when I came to later learn that he was my biological dad.

Things got better, my step dad bought another parcel of land in a relatively better address and we moved. This was short lived however, when my mother was heavy with our last born, only boy, she was very sickly, 3 month after delivery she passed away, my kid bro died too and my step Dad followed 2 years later. They all succumbed to what I would later come to learn was HIV. Now I am not sure if she (my Mum) was confused or what exactly. There was this family that was family friends with my grandparents, she had introduced me to them before her demise and would frequently take me to them and I remember her saying “ndio huyu mtoto wenu nme waletea” ….I think at some point my mother had a relationship with the brother to this woman. Personally, I think she just wanted me to have a better life or something( that family was relatively better off), because prior to her passing she had told the sister to this man she was seeing that, in the event of her death, they take care of me. Another dying wish was that my step dad pays dowry before he takes custody of my step sisters.

My Uncles and Aunties (maternal) were not pleased with her proclamation that I go live with the family friends. True to the wishes of my dead mother, the lady came and took me to her place forcefully. The stay started off well, however in a household of so many I would find myself doing all the chores, I was a nanny, grounds-person and chef at the same time! If anything went wrong I would be whipped using electric cables. At some point an Aunt to my mother caused chaos, telling off my Uncles and Aunties as to why they would allow me to be with folks I had no blood relation to. My hosts would forcefully fight back, feeding my young mind with all sorts of melodrama about my mother’s family. I remember us once going to the area chief for me to choose sides. Being young and impressionable I of course chose my adopters. An Uncle went ahead to say, that let her be, if she has decided to live with them so be it, when she wants back, we will gladly have her.

Now, before proceeding to class 8, one has to pay some registration fee, when I asked this of her, she quickly told me off and said I will take you to your dad (her brother) in Kampala where you will school from now henceforth. Now one day when picking groceries, the lady store owner goes like, my dear why do you suffer and yet your real dad lives?? She went ahead to tell me who it was. I was aghast! I hated her!! Why would she tell me, a whole me, with all the childhood pride that I was the daughter of a photoman!? I was in denial, but the truth is the truth and you can’t run away from it. I even reported her to my Aunt who played along for some reason and went and scolded the lady. I later on got to learn that my host had received dowry and was planning to marry me off to some dude in Kampala.

With this rather disheartening discovery I started to plot my escape, must admit I did not have a very elaborate plan but I knew my stay was over. During a relatives wedding I broke a flask, I got the mother of all tongue lashing right in front of everyone till the hubby to my Aunt came to tell me you really don’t have to stay with these people, we love you and you can come by anytime. After that whole incident one evening, when one of my Aunties was visiting I followed her and told her I am not going back to that hell hole. She was weary but I was insistent, she quickly took me to my other Aunt, second last born to my mother, whom to date I can say has been my rock and like a mother to me. They quickly whisked me away to Uganda where another Aunt lived. She got me in some Ugandan school where I was enrolled in High school not having finished my primary school under the pretext that my documents got lost but I would avail them. Being from Kenya and with the whole Kenya being superior to Uganda thing they bought it.  One term in, school fees became a challenge, with my salonist Aunt who was a nomad of sorts, we moved towns.

After a while I offered to come seek help from my Aunt who would later on be like Mum through it all, the plan was that I go back. Second last born Aunt thought otherwise, so I stayed. I was shoved back to class 7 by the Kenyan education system which would hear none of my lost credentials stories. I joined high school courtesy of my Photoman Dad, this has to be the only duty he ever did to me, bought me books; an atlas, Dictionary, a Geometrical set and first term’s fee. That was it. I was in and out of school so much till the head teacher encumbered my desk. My Aunt had to step up. At this point she laughs and quips, am shocked I was never called among the worst performers. A local councilman came through with a bursary that helped me finish eventually.

One odd job after the other, dodged marriage proposals here and there, I eventually joined a local theater group. While at the same time my Aunt got me to enroll for computer packages. I take her back to the marriage proposals and joke about how we probably would never have met had she accepted to be a 3rd or 4th wife to one of her suitors.This is in 2011 going 2012 and this whole acting business got me at loggerheads with my Aunt. My Ugandan Aunt volunteered to stay with my perceived deviant self for a while, the stay was pretty turbulent, I just had to run. Still not sure how I arrived at the decision to run to my biological Dad’s native home, but I did and that stay was just impossible. I came back to Bungoma and started staying with my Aunt again.

A friend hooked me up with a job at a local supermarket and it’s from there that I met my Husband.This was sometimes back in 2013, a year in, I got pregnant with our first born. I hurriedly introduced him to my Auntie. Before the pregnancy could start showing, I sat My Aunt down and told her, am a big girl now and would like to go stay with my friend. We’ve found a nice little house somewhere in town. Stayed with my friend for a month but quickly moved in with my husband, I was 6 month pregnant then.

I must admit I rushed this relationship in a bid to break the cycle, word has it that if you were born out of wedlock, chances are you will do the same. That right there is what I was trying to break. We did a small wedding and formalized our union. My Aunt at some point sent a friend to come and tell me bridges have not been burnt yet, I can still come home, since I did not take them up on this offer, they got so mad, resulting in them never visiting my baby when I delivered. I switched jobs and now worked with a local communications dealership. At this point my husband had lost his job and here I was earning a paltry KES 6,500. At this point I can’t help but run some quick maths in my head, because I know she stays out of town. Her fare would be half her take home! My God!!

At some point my hubby got a job as a driver with a local shuttle Sacco. That marked the beginning of madness. He got in an affair with some other women and would go offline for a week or two, without as much as a text message. He would get my text messages and I tried calling yous’ and not even call back. Things got out of hand at some point, a runaway hubby, heavy with my second born, no food, a nanny I haven’t paid a single cent for the past 2 years (God bless her soul), Joel I even developed suicidal thoughts. I would go on porridge the entire day and remember I am breastfeeding my second born at this point.

The second last born to my Mum softened her heart and took in my first born boy because I was simply stuck and couldn’t make ends meet. So I ask, what’s really keeping you there? There is no love, growth or support whatsoever, how do you justify your stay?? Truthfully Joel, I have no solid plan, I can’t leave him now, at least he provides a roof over our head (by the way his mum built a house for us, so we don’t pay rent at least) I don’t want my kids growing up without a relationship with their father like I did. I interject again, don’t you feel you are sacrificing your own well being in a bid to prevent history from repeating itself? I just want things to take their own path, if our marriage dies, let it, but I will not be the one that pulls the plug.

So what next my dear friend? My Aunt got a relatively well paying job and is more than willing to support me. I am soon quitting my job as a mobile money vendor and we are in talks with my Aunt of opening a small eatery, mostly serving fast foods. I am happy for her, so it’s not all doom and gloom, a small flicker can be seen at the end of the proverbial tunnel. I have known this lady for close to 8 years, we’ve exchanged pleasantries, visited her first born when she delivered, been her friend all this while and not once has she ever sought any kind of help from me. I dissuade her from doing this, reach out to friends, I might not have the solution but might know someone who does.

I promise to make a follow up on how the eatery gig unfolds and I have to leave as the interview took longer than I had anticipated.  We all have our journeys’ others obviously more winding and daunting than others.  Looking at the glint in her eyes as she regales every bit of the story with nostalgia, I can tell that she is not telling to seek sympathy or attention but to eventually just get it all off her chest to someone she believes won’t judge or impose their own biography on her. 7 days have passed since I took this story, it has been replaying in my head and I can’t be thankful enough for the life I have. Being the first time telling someone else’s story other than my own this took me longer. I am glad she did share though,  I am sure she will encourage, give hope or better yet inspire someone out there to hold on and keep pushing relentlessly.

Have a compelling journey/story personal or otherwise? Call/text me if you have my number or email joelmukoma@flashbyte.co.ke cc j.mukoma@gmail.com